
HE LUTE AND LAYS 



CHARLES STUART WELLES 




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THE LUTE AND LAYS 



THE LUTE AND LAYS 



BY 

CHARLES STUART WELLES, M.D. 



A loving couple, man and wife, 

Along a devious pathway plodding! 

Such shall thy scutcheon be, ah! Life — 
Thought I, as after luncheon nodding 
Under the hedge. 



NEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN COMPANY. 

LONDON: GEORGE BELL & SONS. 

MDCCCXCIX. 

All rights reserved. 



DEDICATORY. 

TO MY NATIVE COUNTRY 

THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 

WHERE THESE SONGS WERE 

COMPOSED. 

NEW England, oh, New England, 
There is quiet in thy hills ; 
New England, oh, New England, 

There is music in thy rills ; 
In the verdure of thy valleys, 

In the rippling of thy streams, 
There is rest for weary pilgrims 
And a home for happy dreams. 

New England, oh. New England, 
There is storm among thy hills ; 

New England, oh, New England, 
There are torrents in thy rills ; 



And a voice of warning surges 
From thy mountains to the sea, 

But its echo ever rises 

In a single murmur — Free ! 

New England, oh, New England, 

From thy firm and rock-bound shore. 
New England, oh. New England, 

Comes a loud and solemn roar ; 
'Tis the echo of thy billows 

To the rock upon thy coast — 
Like the bugle blast of freedom 

As she marshals up her host. 

New England, oh. New England, 

From thy cradle of the land — 
New England, oh. New England, 

From thy strong and Pilgrim band — 
There are freemen calling freemen ; 

And the sound of Freedom's blast 
Is the signal for her soldiers. 

When the skies are overcast ! 

9, Roland Gardens, S.W. 



CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

The Lute 3 

Lilian 13 

An Old Bouquet 15 

The Star of an Evening 17 

Love is a Fay 18 

That Love Endures 20 

A Description 21 

Roses 23 

The Wife 24 

Wherefore I Sing 26 

The Poet and Beauty 29 

Serenade Song 30 

A Statuette 32 

Love's Messagers 33 

Love in Doubt 34 

The Sonnet 35 

The Lily and the Violets 36 

The Tide of Love 37 

The Blossom 38 

Christine 39 

The Love Star 40 

The Flower of Friendship 43 

At Odds with Love 44 

Content 45 

The Lily of the Valley 46 

At the Trysting-Place ' . 47 

Golden Days 49 

The Fire-fly 50 

Hearts-ease 51 

Song of Spring . 52 



The Summer-time . -54 

Rose Re-crowned 56 

The Greeting 57 

Violet 58 

The Court of Posies 59 

Love's Confession 61 

A Valentine 62 

In Memoriam 65 

Evening d'j 

Born to the Purple 68 

The Rain 69 

A Wounded Spirit who can Bear . . 70 

A Thought 72 

Grant 73 

Laus Salutis 74 

A Beautiful Morning 75 

October 76 

Vale Mea 78 

Reverie 79 

The Romance of a Rose 81 

The Book of Life 83 

Queen Leila 86 

The Cloud 88 

A Summer Song 90 

Bohemia 92 

Sine Qua Non 94 

Utopia 95 

Repose 96 

Desire 97 

Accomplishment 98 

Twilight 99 

Adieu, Charmant Pays 102 



THE LUTE. 



>> . . T/ rot KvTTpig ol KvTrpig /iovov^ 
aW l<rrt TroXXwr ovofiaTuiv kTrtovvfiog. 
tauv fitv "Ai^>je> tffrt ^' d^OiTog Bia. 

Sophocles. 



THE LUTE. 

I SING of beauty, though this lute 
Unto a mournful strain was cast 
By him who played upon it last. 
Who seemed of gladness destitute. 

Great love of beauty fills my soul 
With voices struggling to be free 
And breathe, in tuneful ecstasy, 

The wondrous love my songs extol. 

Not song nor strain that ear has heard 
Another to his mate impart ; 
But melodies which fill my heart, 

As warbles each untutored bird. 

I sing of beauty as the birds 
Awake in gladness and rejoice 
That God hath given each a voice 

To sing their joy, though not in words. 

I sing a heart-felt happiness — 

The glad contentment of the soul 
When joy breaks forth beyond control 

And utters more than words express. 
3 



II, 

How shall I then my gladness hide, 
As down the drift of life I roam ? 
All nature is my boundless home, 

And love my only perfeft guide. 

For in love's light my song takes wing ; 
Her star pervades my universe, 
And all my rhapsodies are hers — 

It is her beauty that I sing. 

Her light illumes my destined way, 
And ever points my course aright ; 
Hers is the brilliance of my night, 

bhe is the magnet of my day. 

For ere she came my sky was dark — 

What though the day was sometimes fair. 
As often starless night was there 

Which held no compass to my bark ; 

And clouded night hung low above 
And filled my heart with lonely fear. 
Until I felt her presence near. 

And recognized my star of love. 
4 



The cloud that filled my night was doubt ; 

The night of doubt was black with me ; 

There was no dawning, seemingly, 
Until her star came shyly out — 

Came out between the shades that fell 
Athwart my pathway, blindly trod ; 
Came like a gleam of joy from God, 

To be about me like a spell. 

My doubt was not a doubt of love. 
Nor doubt of goodness undefined. 
Nor disbelief in human kind. 

Nor doubt of Him who rules above. 

It was the doubt of self which hung 

Before me like a misty veil ; 

To me appeared no Holy Grail ; 
There was no guide to which I clung. 

I wandered lonely, blindly led. 
As one may wander in a dream. 
While knowing there is no supreme 

And living way thereon to tread. 
5 



IV. 

I saw the day benignly fair 

When outward life before me spread 

Its beauty like a posy bed ; 
But then the inward doubt was there. 

I found the earth a garden glad 

With happy themes inviting song, — 
I sang sometimes the whole day long ; 

But evening fell, and love was sad. 

Life held no fixed beacon light, 
Refleding joy from day to day ; 
I felt there was no kindly ray 

To break the darkness of my night 

Until that time when beauty beamed 
Upon me with her smile serene. 
And bade me recognize my queen ; 

When night with radiant glory teemed. 

The day and night one joy became ; 
My song no longer sank in doubt. 
But day or night rang boldly out 

And sang all joy in beauty's name. 
6 



V. 

O lute ! wilt guide my voice to tell 

The wondrous spell which round her weaves, 
What rapturous joy my bosom heaves 

To sing the love I love so well ? 

The love that grew to mate with mine. 
The perfeft flower upon the tree, 
The one, fair blossom, blown for me 

By law of earth and love divine. 

Whose life unfolded as a flower. 
But in whose bosom grew the seed 
Of love immortal ; for what heed 

Of bloom that fadeth in the hour ! 

Whose life began in blush of spring, 
What time the love-star shone at night. 
Pervading earth with fadeless light. 

That lives in her whose love I sing. 

Who taught me this result of love : 
That in its knowledge is content — 
The sweet, surpassing complement 

Whereto the lives of mortals move. 
7 



VI. 

Fond lute, we are no longer young; 
But worship is not therefore less. 
Than it were still our happiness 

To sing the joys our youth has sung. 

But rather more, that now we know 
That passion does not measure love ; 
For love is light from God above, 

And passion but a voice below. 

So, while I may not bid thee wake 
To throbbing joy nor quivering pain. 
The mellower be thy tuneful strain 

Which times a song for beauty's sake. 

Sing, lute, the harmony of peace. 

Whose stately music brings sweet sense 
Of sorrow-soothing recompense 

That youth's impassioned discords cease. 

Sing, lute, the wondrous peace of night, 
Where night no longer shadows day. 
But merges in the broader way 

Beyond the small eclipse of light. 
8 



VII. 

Come sing, my lute, the gladsome song 
Of starry night beyond the cloud, 
Where souls on souls immortal crowd 

To join fair God's angelic throng. 

Sing joyful songs the angels sing. 
Whose one ecstatic sense is light. 
Who from their love-entranced height 

Look down on earth's minutest thing. 

Sing heavenly peace that lendeth light 
Unto the wanderer here below. 
To pierce the clouds of doubt and woe 

That make the darkness of his night. 

Reveal to him who walks the way 
Of selfish solitude and doubt. 
Thy light to lure the wanderer out 

Unto the sense of broader day. 

That thus he may ascend to see 

The constant joy of heavenly things, 
When love descends on angel wings 

To greet his soul in ecstasy. 
9 



** And she, with lips to which belong 

Sweet intuitions of all art, 
Gave to the winds of night a strain 
Which they who heard would hear again." 
Whitthr, 



LILIAN. 



** In wunderschonen Monat Mai, 
Als alle Vbgel sangen, 
Da hab' ich ihr gestanden 
Mein Sehnen und Verlangen." 

Heine. 



LILIAN. 

OH, say not love is lost, that lives 
Still in our dreams of other years ; 
Love is not dead, while memory gives 
Us back again its smiles and tears ! 

Love led me back last night, entranced, 
Like one whom diverse fates beguile ; 

I know not how it was I chanced 

To dream so many dreams the while. 

I dreamed of my first love the last. 
Strange as the course of love appears. 

And my last love was fainter cast 
Upon that transit of the years ; 

Till this, this only, stands to me, 

From all the night's weird, wandering way, 
The dream of my first love I see 

Yet brighter in the wakeful day. 
13 



So, say not love is lost, that lives 
E'en as a dream of other years ; 

Love is not dead, while memory gives 
Us back again its smiles and tears. 

I see fair Lilian as she came 

Across my spring-time long ago, 

Just as a floweret gleams aflame 
Soon after dreary fields of snow ; 

Just as, since that delightful spring. 
When now I tread some wintry plain, 

Close after each tired wandering 
I see her gleaming there again. 

Bright beaming, fair as any flower 
Perennial in its bloom of May, 

She comes ! — say in some quiet hour 
May I not steal her thence away ? 

Yea ! say not love is lost, that lives 
Still in our dreams of other years — 

Love is not dead, while memory gives 
Us back again its smiles and tears. 
H 



AN OLD BOUQUET. 

THOUGH the flowers wither, love, 
Other flowers as fair 
Grow upon the heather, love, 

To adorn thy hair ; 
To adorn thy bosom, love, 

Than whose tender blush 
Never flower yet hath blown 
With a daintier flush ! 



Though the flowers wither, love, 

When their scent has died. 
We will gather fresher flowers 

To adorn thy pride ; 
But when chilling winter, love. 

Summer flowers shall doom. 
Thou shalt bloom yet daintily — 

For thy lover bloom ! 
15 



Though the flowers wither, love. 

Listlessly depart. 
Thou shalt bloom, thyself a flower. 

Fragrant as thou art; 
Blushing as a fresh rose, love. 

In the morning light. 
Pure as waxen cereus 

Blossoming at night ! 

Though the flowers wither, love, 

Budding hopes arise. 
Whispering that a Spring of Love 

Shall delight thine eyes — 
Bend thy fond eyes nearer, then. 

With thy gentle art. 
And rare flowers of love shall bloom 

For thee in my heart ! 



i6 



THE STAR OF AN EVENING. 

SO gently fell her words 
Upon my charmed ear, 
'Twas like a song of birds 
Unconsciously we hear. 

So calmly fell her gaze 
Upon my wondering eyes, 

'Twas like a dewy haze 

That drapes the deeper skies. 

So lightly fell her hand 

Upon my open palm, 
'Twas like a fairy wand 

Dispensing heavenly balm. 

So softly fell her sigh 
Upon my tender heart, 

'Twas like a last good-bye 
When truest lovers part. 

So nearly, yet afar, 

Upon my night she shone, 
'Twas like a falling star 

That cleaves the dark alone. 
17 



LOVE IS A FAY. 

LOVE is a fairy, child ! Love was a star ; 
In heaven's bright Eden this star was a twin, 
And stars are fairies ; — roaming afar. 

Love strayed unto Earth and was welcomed in. 

Love is a Fay who thus chanced upon Earth, 
Forgetting his way in the boundless blue ; 

His soul-lit glances speak his birth. 

As, eager, he wanders the wide world through. 

Wanders forever, yet may not find 

That other love which was all to him, 

That other Fay whom he left behind. 
Yet is ever before him in distance dim. 

Searching he looks, with his heavenly art, 
In each maiden's eyes, till a luminous light 

Illumines their lives, and each tender heart 
Glows ever true, like a star of night. 
i8 



Ever he wanders, and never grows old ; 

And never a maiden escapes a day 
When, hovi^ever disguised, his glances bold 

Shall change her into a loving Fay. 

Happy the maiden who learns to know 

When the Fay is disguised in a true lover's 
breast, 

And happy the hero whose loving eyes glow 
With the luminous light of a Fay possessed ' 



19 



THAT LOVE ENDURES. 

RONDEAU. 

THAT love endures, O heart, we know; 
For have we not through all the years, 
Through days of grief, — aye, unto tears. 
Which sometimes spite of protest flow, — 
Made peace with love to break with woe ? 

Yet stay, O heart, hast thou no fears 
For love that only grief endears ; 
Hast thou no fonder proof to show 
That love endures ? 

Yea ! joy that thrills love's eager ears 
Till, over-gladdened, grief appears 
Access of joy, — by this we know 
That love endures ! 



20 



A DESCRIPTION. 

MY Love shall be a Lady born 
Who would in full possess my heart, 
And she'll my love with love adorn, 
And love me wholly, not in part ; 
For we might sorry, sorry be, 
If less love fell to her and me. 

My Love shall own a form of grace, 

That grace Love-Artist pines to win — 
The animated form and face 

That breathes of heart and soul within. 
So shall my own Love truly be 
A goddess which enchanteth me. 

My Love shall mass her wealth of hair 

O'er fairest brow and glowing cheek 

Fresh tinted by the woodland air. 

With blushes playing hide and seek ; 

And these rare charms shall surely be 

Sweet bonds endearing her to me. 

21 



My Love shall look from deep, deep eyes — 

Wide, open orbs, with drooping lash ; 
Her loving glances meet replies 

Shall send me, gleaming flash for flash. 
Sweet, sweet communings these shall be 
Unto my Lady-love and me. 

My Love two ruby lips shall own. 

As ruby-red as red can be ; 
Their neftar, sipped by me alone, 
Shall prove the love she bears for me. 
Her lips the seal of love shall be 
To bind her evermore to me. 

My Love shall own all these beside : 

White, glistening teeth, a taper chin, 
A brow, without, both full and wide, 
A cultivated mind within ; — 
Sweet Paragon of Love, ah me ! 
May I not prove unworthy thee! 



22 



ROSES. 

NO garland but roses my darling shall wear ! 
Roses and roses and roses rare — 
Roses of white in her raven hair ; 
Roses of red on her bosom fair ; 
Roses and roses and roses rare — 
My darling 's a rose, and the posies declare 
That roses can only with roses compare ; 
So no wreath but roses my darling shall wear. 



23 



THE WIFE. 

'* Un jour tu sentiras, peut-etre, 

Le prix d'un coeur qui nous comprend j 

Le bien qu'on trouve a le connaitre, 
Ou ce qu'on soufFie en le perdant." 

De Musset. 

LO, the touch of velvet fingers, 
And the music of her breast, 
Beating full, majestic measures. 
Soothe my weary soul to rest ! 

Hush ! the din of busy traffic. 
With its restless, daily round. 

Making life a thing of barter. 
And the mart a prison ground. 

Hush ! the wrong of spent endeavour. 
With its lost result of toil — 

Honest toil, deserving better 
Than becoming common spoil. 



Hush ! the fear of death, denying 
' That success which might atone 
For the thought of her forsaken, 
In a cruel world alone. 

Hush ! the whole day's tired effort. 
With its over-burdening strain ; 

There is strength in her affeftion 
For another day again. 

For her touch of velvet fingers, 
And the music of her breast, 

Beating full, majestic measures. 
Soothe my weary soul to rest. 



25 



WHEREFORE I SING. 

WHEREFORE I sing ? Ah, sweetest friend, 
How can I reason with thee wrong — 
I think it must be thou dost lend 
Thy tuneful echo to my song ! 
One says that where there is no ear 
There is nor song nor sound to hear. 

So, if I sing, and if there may 

Some melody or music be, 
Be sure it is a heart-felt lay — 

My song, that struggles unto thee ; 
And while thou lendest me thine ear, 
I sing, sweet one, that thou mayst hear. 



26 



LOVE'S GARDEN. 



"I enter thy Garden of Roses." 

Byron. 



THE POET AND BEAUTY. 

SHOULD Beauty lift her eyes to thine 
And whisper : Poet, sing, I pray, 
A little song which shall be mine, — 

Then couldst thou say her nay? 
Ah, were it not a joy to trace 

Each charming feature of her face ! 

Yet when to Beauty's lustrous eyes 
Your studied verses you may bring. 

How bear that she should criticize, — 
How dare attempt to sing ! 

Nay, Poet! thence 'twere only meet 
To sue for grace at Beauty's feet. 



SERENADE SONG. 

HOW softly sounds my sweet guitar 
As o'er the silvery lake I glide 
Beneath the favourite, love-lit star 

Of summer-time and evening-tide ! 
How clear the night, how cool the air. 

No lowering clouds this evening mar ; 
Thou moon how bright, and oh, how fair- 
How softly sounds my sweet guitar ! 

Chorus, 

My sweet guitar! my sweet guitar! 
How softly sounds my sweet guitar ! 

My slight canoe is wafted far 

Before the gentle, summer breeze ; 

Along the shore my sweet guitar 
Awakes an echo 'mid the trees — 

Faint echoes, answering to my soul 
As sweet as angels' voices are, 
30 



Or sweetest strains of oriole — 
Awake ! fond soul of my guitar ! 

Chorus, 

My sweet guitar ! my sweet guitar ! 
Awake, fond soul of my guitar ! 

Oh thou, whose echoing tones rejoice 
My spirit, worshipping afar. 

To thee I lift my trembling voice. 
For thee I tune my sweet guitar ! 

For thee, sweet love, my waiting boat 
Drifts idly 'neath love's guiding star ; 

Sweet love, breathe low each answering note- 
Breathe softest tones, my sweet guitar ! 

Chorus. 

My sweet guitar ! my sweet guitar ! 
Breathe softest tones, my sweet guitar ! 



31 



A STATUETTE. 

WORN and downcast, sorrow-laden, 
Lonely in a foreign land, 
Found I this pale, love-lorn maiden 

Prostrate in the desert sand. 
Why this lingering fate, we wonder ; 
Doth this live that man may know 
Love was even crushed asunder 
In those ages long ago ? 

Yet though crushed and long forsaken. 

Love is fair as purest snow. 
And its firm heart lives, unshaken 

By the rude weight of its woe ; 
For, though weary and neglefted, 

Love hath lines thou know'st not of: 
Hast ne'er found thine own dejected, 

Waiting statuette of Love ! 



32 



LOVE'S MESSAGERS. 

"The rose of Sharon and the lily of the valleys." 

FLOWERS that to your Queen I send, 
Lilies, Roses, all attend ! 
Once she seemed as true to me 
As the mead is to the May ; 
Do you think that it can be 
She has wandered far away ? 

Flowers, fate is in your hands. 
Hearken unto love's commands ; 
Find her, though the way be long, 

And, if she be faithful still. 
Tell her that her Knight of Song 

Kneels to her and waits her will ! 



33 



LOVE IN DOUBT. 

I WONDER if my darling knows ' 
How all my being yearns for her, 
And if 'twere madness to suppose 

That she could hold me worthier 
Than others were ; but why not I ? 

Have I not seen her temples flush, 
Her trembling lips express a sigh, 

As if for me her sigh or blush ? 
Ah, might I hope it was for me. 

Or that she guessed my love for her. 
How might I not yet rise to be 

Her hero, though her worshipper — 
Fulfilling more than fancy can 

Have painted her the love of man ! 



34 



THE SONNET. 

BEHOLD this statue of a woman, wrought 
From fleckless marble, a rude mass of stone ! 
It lives not only in its form alone, 
But in its posture is the sculptured thought. 
Within its contour has the sculptor brought 

Both life and order, though the clay had none ; 
And so from chaos of mere words is grown 
The soulful sonnet from the realms of naught. 
The dream of beauty which the sculptor saw 
Was not more perfeft than the poet knew. 
Nor lives more truly in its spotless form, 
Than that sweet creature of poetic law 
The poet models into semblance true, 
Or wakes created into being warm. 



35 



THE LILY AND THE VIOLETS. 

A FABLE. 

A LILY bloomed in a gardener's bed 
Of Hearts-ease and sweet Violets shy, 
And nodded her queenly and graceful head 
In arch conceit to the passers-by. 

And one reached over, who longed to clasp 
This fair, white Lily, which bowed away 

Her supple bosom beyond his grasp 
In fickle breezes which blew that day. 



Ah ! the free winds of destiny freshen at will, 
And the stranger, aweary, went humming a song ; 

And the breezes kept blowing and blowing, until 
The pale Lily wearied with bowing so long. 



Then the shy, modest Violets whispered together : 
'Tis nice, being little ; for no one may blame 

Us with flirting, and all the wild weather 

Which blows by shall leave us forever the same. 

36 



THE TIDE OF LOVE. 

NAY ! ask not if Love is content 
With some few strains of simple song ; 
Nor question, still, the right or wrong 
Of Love's short dream of wonderment. 

For oh, life seems so swift a dream, 

That though we strive each change to note. 
Our drift glides on, as speeds a boat 

Adown an aimless, tideless stream ; 

And though we turn our straining eyes 
To fix some fond or certain thing. 
We are borne on and cannot sing 

The tithe of songs that thence arise. 

Nor think that Love is discontent, 
Which finds rare form in stated song, 
We will not question right or wrong 

In Love's short dream of wonderment. 

But only when by night, by day, 

Love's sweet re-echoing strain awakes. 
Love's morning light in heaven breaks. 

Then sing Love's tuneful roundelay ! 
37 



THE BLOSSOM. 

AN ALLEGORY. 

THERE are fruits which wither upon the stem- 
And these are maidens, whose love is 
strong, 
And pure, and loyal ; who suffer so long 
For their faith in men, that they die for them. 

There are fruits which mellow to rot again — 
And these are harlots, whom fateful gales 
Have tempest-tossed, till resistance fails 

And they fall in the wiling of pitiless men. 

There are fruits which ripen in harvest-time — 
And these are women, whose budding flower 
Doth bloom to full being in love's own bower, 

To be culled in the might of a lover's prime. 



Oh ! these flowers e'en may wither in long despair, 
Or, ruthlessly shaken, prostrate them there ; 
But the blossom which buddeth, ripe fruit to bear. 
This, this were a flower to watch, and wear. 
$8 



CHRISTINE. 



T 



HY love I may not win, 

Thy heart thou canst not give ; 
Yet in thy smile I live, 
Christine ! 



Smile on me, then, my queen — 
Thy smile thou mayst bestow, 
Ere from thy side I go, 
Christine ! 

Ere lone I go, Christine, 
Far, far away from thee. 
Smile yet again on me, 
Christine ! 

Ah ! thou art fond, I ween. 
Of one who may no more 
Thy very smile adore, 
Christine ! 
39 



THE LOVE STAR. 

IN the golden, summer evening, when the birds 
among the trees 
Sang their joyous, twilight carol in the coming 
of the moon, 
We were happier than song-birds, happier than 
these. 
As we wandered by the brooklet in that mellow 
month of June. 

Oh, the happy, happy summer-time, when day 

was long and bright. 
And the merry, merry birds sang their songs until 

the night. 
We were merrier than song-birds, singing of the 

moon. 
As we wandered by the brooklet in that mellow 

month of June! 

Chorus, 
Happy ! happy ! happier than song-birds singing 

of the moon. 
As we wandered by the brooklet in that mellow 
month of June ! 

40 



II. ( 

For that golden, summer evening in our sky was 
rising, too. 
Like a mellow, mellow meteor out-rivalling the 
moon, 
One bright, glowing, glowing love-star, shining 
ever true. 
As we turned our faces loveward in that mellow 
month of June. 

Oh, the happy, happy summer-time, when night 

was still and fair, 
And the brilliant, brilliant moon-beams danced 

upon the air. 
We were merrier than moon-beams — fairies of 

the moon. 
As we turned our faces loveward in that mellow 

month of June ! 

Chorus, 

Happy! happy! happier than moon-beams — fairies 

of the moon. 
As we turned our faces loveward in that mellow 

month of June ! 

41 



III. 

And that golden, summer evening, though the 
moonlight passed away. 
There was still no lack of splendour in the ab- 
sence of the moon, 
For our star of love still lingered, in the dawning 
of the day. 
As we woke unto the morning in that mellow 
month of June. 

Oh, the happy, happy summer time, when night 

or day were one. 
And our glowing, glowing love-star overwhelmed 

the sun. 
We were merrier than sun-beams, mocking at the 

moon. 
As we woke unto the morning in that mellow 

month of June ! 

Chorus. 

Happy ! happy ! happier than sun-beams, mocking 

at the moon, 
As we woke unto the morning in that mellow 

month of June ! 

42 



THE FLOWER OF FRIENDSHIP. 

FLOWERS, blooming in a day, 
Pale ere night in mild decay ; 
But there is a sturdy flower 
Which blooms long — yet in the hour 
Fades, to mock whose wanton knife 
Plucks it from its fruitful life. 
Friendship is a flower to prize ; 
For if broken, it soon dies. 



43 



AT ODDS WITH LOVE. 

AT odds with love I should despair 
Of some sweet compass for my song. 
Yet in misfortune still forbear 

To grieve, or deem my voice less strong, 
That love should stoop to wreak me wrong. 

For, though we may not war with love, 
Whose hand is on the human heart, 

How might I not in pleasance rove 
Amid my solitude of art. 
E'en though love held me there apart ? 

Aye ! there might I such solace sing 

That, surely, some lorn, pitying fay 

Would bear my song to her and bring 
Her answer back, and thus essay 
To outwit love — as yet we may. 

But, oh, sweetheart, whose plaint I hear 
Come floating forth from alien skies. 

Unto thy counterpart draw near 

Ere love, who walks with blinded eyes. 
May lead us far from paradise ! 
44 



CONTENT. 

HADST never thou, dear friend, an earnest 
faith 
That some long loved ideal should prove true ? 
Sometimes my soul longs for some nameless thing 
Until I think it even must be real ; 
For my heart faints beneath its wild desire. 
But then I say unto my fainting heart : 
Thou hast not lived this other, wondrous dream 
Life holds for thee. Look up, courageous soul, 
It is too soon to die of heart-ache, child! 
And then I look, to rest my tired eyes. 
Upon this nearer world of loveliness — 
When lo ! e'en as they drooped 'mid other scenes 
Do they forget them, in these joys ; and rise 
To idolize a worthier counterpart. 
Which yields yet fondly back, with lingering look 
From loving eyes to loving eyes, more love 
To feast upon, until — Love is content. 

45 



THE LILY OF THE VALLEY. 

" Ainsi qu'on choisit une rose 
Dans les guirlandes de Sarons, 

Choisissez une vierge eclose, 
Parmi les lis de vos vallons." 

Lamartine. 

SHE is not vain, this dainty flower, 
But bends her pliant form 
To meet the motive of the hour, 

And welcomes sun or storm ; 
For when there comes a cloud of rain 

She fills her cups with dew. 

And when the warm day comes again 

She serves some up to you. 



46 



AT THE TRYSTING-PLACE. 

NOT for a price I sing, 
Nor yet to fleeting fame, 
Only for thee I form — 
For thee I need not name — 
Such joy a song may bring 

To thy heart, pulsing warm ! 

Unto thy gentle voice 
I modulate this song — 

Unto thee only might 
My heart its theme prolong, 
In sounds of sweetest choice. 
To win back wild delight ! 

Under our Tryst I pine. 
Sweet love, and sing to thee 

In lone and quiet mood. 
So sing, my love, to me — 
Sing only song of mine 

In thy heart's solitude ! 
47 



Sing thou to me alone — 
In solitude compose, 

Sweet love, thy tuneful voice — 
Only thy fond heart knows 
Measures that mine hath known, 
Who bids thy love rejoice ! 

So breathe back to my heart 
Music to measure mine — 

Thou, whom my soul reveres ! 
Lonely for thee I pine ; 
Only thy matchless art 

Can charm away my fears ! 



48 



GOLDEN DAYS. 

THE golden grain now droops its head ; 
The pink of age has tipped the clover ; 
The harvest days are ripe and red 
And all the youth of spring is over. 

The summer sun and summer showers 
Now fill the land and sky with glory. 

Just as sweet Lilian, decked with flowers, 
Doth bloom to grace my simple story. 

She comes like summer, clad in gold. 
With beaming eyes and raven tresses, 

Queen of my song — the story old 
Of love and all that love expresses. 



49 



THE FIRE-FLY. 

AN ALLEGORY. 

WHY should she delve when all her wants 
Are bounteously supplied, 
Or lowly lodge when heaven grants 

Her scope in regions wide ? 
What though she wings her flight afar, 
She is no cold and distant star. 

Nor shall she seek with silver ray 

To rival the day's sun, 
But in God's wide design she may 

Her own true courses run — 
See ! through the night of life she moves, 
A beacon light for whom she loves. 

Shine on, thou gentle, soul-lit sprite. 

Shine on thy cheerful way. 
To lend new radiance to the night 

To compensate the day ; 
They sleep, who heed not souls like thine, 
Whose privilege it is — to shine ! 
50 



HEARTS-EASE. 



WHOM may I love? — shall my love be 
This lowly flower so near to me, 

Or, as I rise in loftier pride. 

May I not win some courtly bride ? 



Once I was young and love was free, 
Oh, had this flower bloomed then for me ! 

But now I'm grown so high and tall, 
I see rich fruits hang from the wall ; 

I see rare flowers in windows wide ; 
Ay ! but a world sees these beside. 

For other stalks, as tall as I, 

May peer within these windows high. 

Ah ! pretty flower close by my side. 
Forgive my slight, forgive my pride — 

That thou shouldst bloom for me alone ! 
Oh ! love's conceit is all its own. 
51 



SONG OF SPRING. 

I AM glad ! I am glad ! 
For my hills are revealed in their glory of 
Spring, 
And the birds have come back from the valleys to 
sing ; 

I am glad! I am glad! 
I am glad that the Summer is coming again, 
With its sunshiny days and its showers of rain! 

I am glad! I am glad! 
For my love has returned from the vales of the 

South, 
And she comes as the showers in seasons of 
drouth ; 

I am glad ! I am glad ! 
I am glad that the Summer is coming again. 
With its sunshiny days and its showers of rain ! 
52 



I am glad ! I am glad ! 
For my heart is as young as the fresh budding green, 
And is as gay as the birds from the valleys, I ween ; 

I am glad ! I am glad ! 
I am glad that the Summer is coming again, 
With its sunshiny days and its showers of rain ! 

I am glad! I am glad! 
I am glad as the Spring-time is cloudless and free, 
For I know that my sweetheart is singing with me ; 

I am glad! I am glad! 
I am glad that the Summer is coming again. 
With its sunshiny days and its showers of rain ! 



53 



THE SUMMER-TIME. 

OUR Spring-time has flown ; but young love 
comes, returning 
From dalliance long in that pale land of flowers 
Where youth lingers fondly, though lovingly yearn- 
ing 
For Summer's bright glory of sunshine and 
showers. 

My love has come forth, bearing rare orange 
garlands, 

Herself a fair lily in delicate pride ; — 
My sweet Rose of Sharon, didst travel in far lands 

To find thee a chaplet to deck thee a bride? 

Nay! think not, my rosebud, fair queen of my 
mountains, 
There were no fit blossoms to grace thy pale 
brow; 
For, love, there are roses and bowers and fountains 
And beautiful music to welcome thee now. 
54 



And, love, thou art welcome, though wan as the 
blossom 
Whose bloom thou hast chosen to deck thy dark 
hair ; 
Thou dream of my Spring-time, thou wife of my 
bosom. 
My love, thou art welcome as heaven is fair. 

Our Summer has come, and our Spring-time is 
ended, 

A season of fullness our love shall attune ; 
Thy lily-like pallor of May shall be blended 

With coralline tints of a roseate June. 

For heaven is fair, though the skies may be cloud- 
ing, 
Sometimes, with cool showers to temper the 
day. 
Oh ! love, though the darkness of days shall come 
crowding 
Our life, know that surely all storms pass away. 



55 



ROSE RE-CROWNED. 

SONNET. 

AROSE, applauded as the Queen of Flowers 
And well beloved in her joyous home, 
Grew tired of homage and the even hours, 
And longed the mazes of far realms to roam. 

Ah ! hapless passion, that could tempt a queen 
To yield a kingdom for a doubtful stake ; 

Yet not all kindless, if her soul serene 

Might learn contentment — ^for her subjedls' 
sake. 

This Rose, this glory of all Posy land. 

Full soon pined sadly for her wonted bowers. 

And, humbly yielding to her heart's command. 
Returned a suppliant to the realm of flowers. 

Sang hail the Posies, that their Queen had found 
The pearl of patience, and returned re-crowned ! 

56 



THE GREETING. 

THE bright, glad smile which Lilian wore 
While driving forth one afternoon, 
Was scarcely caught, we passed so soon. 
Yet to my sight her quick glance bore 
Sweet meaning ; and the dainty bow, 
The joyous look half-backward sent. 
Gave to my heart more full content 
Than I could hope to pidure now. 

For that sweet smile which Lilian wore 
While driving forth that afternoon. 
Though scarcely seen, we passed so soon, 

Unto my breast this message bore : 

*' The roses and the song you sent 
Were welcome, and I greet you now 
With smile for smile and bow for bow ; 

I am content ! I am content ! " 



57 



VIOLET. 

ACROSTIC. 



VIOLET ! ere thy welcome face 
In our court of posies came, 
Oh ! we grew to love thy name — 
Lovelier, now, for thy sweet grace ; 
E'en the gentlest flower thou art 
That e'er won a courtier's heart. 



58 



THE COURT OF POSIES. 

WHO shall be King in Posy Land? 
I will be king, says the great Lord of 
Smiles, 
For I am the King of the Land of the Isles, 
I will be King of Posy Land ! 
You shall not be King of Posy Land ! 
Sing the Posies — thus greeting the great Lord of 

Smiles — 
Though you be the King of the Land of the Isles, 
The Poet is King in Posy Land! 

Who shall be Queen in Posy Land? 
Hear what the Posies in unison sing : 
We will hold court that our courteous King 

May choose him a Queen of Posy Land! 

Then outspake the King of Posy Land : 
How can I choose one from the Posies who sing : 
We will hold court that our courteous King 

May choose him a Queen of Posy Land ? 

59 



Oh, fie for the King of Posy Land ! 
Sing the Posies in concert — then take thee a bride 
From some other kingdom or world beside ; 

There must be a Queen in Posy Land ! 

Then who shall be Queen of Posy Land ? 
Asks the King of the Posies, I pray you decide. 
Why, Love shall be Queen ; for who else could 
preside 

At the court of the Posies in Posy Land ! 



60 



LOVE'S CONFESSION. 

LOVE paid her tribute to my heart that night. 
When in low voice, with earnest look, she 
said: 
"I would nought else than thee!" — it was her 

right. 
In loving, to confess her love bedight ; 

And I, who knew how love to love is wed — 
How love illumes responsive love alight — 
Had never word to answer love, who plead 
For what she knew was hers by right instead. 



6i 



A VALENTINE. 

I. 

WHEN she, for whom I write, has heard 
The fairest thought I may express — 
Fond thought, clothed in the simple dress 
Of one sweet word — 

May peace be hers! And peace be thine, 
As e'en comes to some love-lorn bird 
With errant mate, sweet little word, — 
Bird valentine ! 

II. 
Go to her — as the leaflet flies 

To earth's warm, welcoming bosom, where 
It finds contented peace, and there 
Forever lies — 

Or, as a feather from above 

Speeds on light zephyrs to the breast 
Of some fair lake, to float at rest — 
Go ! sweet word — Love. 



62 



LAYS. 



" Amare et sapere vix deo conceditur." 



IN MEMORIAM. 

ALTHOUGH it be not ours to grace 
With rarest flowers this friend so dear. 
Still we who loved him fain would place 
Some flowers upon his honoured bier. 

For rarest flowers not always prove 

Immortal wreaths for whom they bloom, 

The bitter tears of constant love 
Fall oftener on the flowerless tomb. 

Yet while the heart is weighted low 
With grief for him we may not seek, 

And while the voice is freighted so 
With choking sobs, it cannot speak ; 

Still might we weave, with loving touch, 
A simple crown of wayside flowers — 

He loved familiar forms so much 

He would not spurn this wreath of ours. 

65 



His life, so full of homely tasks, 

No sordid pride nor impulse knew; 

His was the love which only asks 

True love again, brave heart, how true 1 

So do we love him still in death — 
The genial soul who knew no wrong ; 

He smiles, as though with dying breath 
He blessed our loving flowers of song. 

Peace, brother, by affedlion blest ! 

Beside thy pyre we kneel to pray 
That thou, whose spirit is at rest, 

Wilt lead us in the perfeft way. 



66 



EVENING. 



I 



N Heaven fair Luna, Queen mother of light, 
Sits, robed in her favourite silver and white 



And, far through the limitless, bright-starred blue, 
Her brilliant effulgence expandeth my view. 

Oh, infinite space, — in those fathomless skies 
What measureless thought of Eternity lies ! 

What glorious thought of that wonderful deep 
Lifts outward my vision from Earth's fevered 
sleep ! 

I think of that evening thus wondrously bright. 
Spell-bound — as an endless and beautiful night, 

When Life shall thus slumber, in calm ne'er to 

cease, 
And dream the great dream of that Heaven of 



peace ! 



67 



BORN TO THE PURPLE. 

THE heart of a giant Norway Pine 
Glows on my hearth with its dying flame 
But who shall say that this heart of mine 
Is not ennobled by its shame ? 

For thus doth the weakest, homeliest thing 
Beam with glories the blind might see ; 

And thus even I find voice to sing 
That which the pine-log sings to me. 

For oh ! the great voice of my Norway fire 
Doth teach thee, whomsoe'er thou art : 

Mayst thou, too, chant from thy gorgeous pyre 
In the glowing pride of as full a heart ! 

Mayst thou, too, merit thy purple robe — 
Fit cerement for thee who, dying, sings ! 

Thou art the royal spirit of a globe ; 

And in the pride of heart all may be kings ! 
68 



THE RAIN, 

A REQUIEM. 



DRIP! drip! drip! 
Dreary rain ! 
Still the slow drops slip 

Down the window-pane. 

Dead! dead! dead! 

Even hope ! 
O'er a lonely bed 

Blooms a grassy slope, 
And the ripe showers start 

From the floods above ; 
So my tearful heart 

Weeps its buried love. 

Weep ! weep ! weep ! 

Weary tears ! 
So wan memories creep 

Down the darkling years. 

69 



A WOUNDED SPIRIT WHO CAN BEAR. 

A WOUNDED spirit who can bear — 
Who may yet death's portal dare ? 
When woe's sorrows gloom life's path, 
What soul its requital hath ? 
Ah ! who can brave th' insidious thrust 
Which wounds a spirit's holiest trust — 
When fondest hope resolves to air, 
A wounded spirit who can bear ? 

A wounded spirit who can bear — 

Oh ! when the dreams of Earth were fair ; 
Oh ! when the tongues of men were rife 
With praise of an unbroken life ; 

Ah, when then falls the cruel frost ! 

When Genius palls — love's labour lost : 

Oh God ! when none this blow may share, 
A wounded spirit who can bear ? 

A wounded spirit who can bear — 
Hurt unto death, as a wounded hare 
70 



It glideth away, to hide its shame 
Where none may know it — even its name. 
So wouldst thou creep to the welcome fire, 
Bearing with thee thy broken lyre. 

Dumb is thy heart in its chill despair — 
Thy wounded spirit no more may bear ! 

A wounded spirit who can bear — 
Lo ! but the promise of God is fair : 
Come unto me, thou faithful one, 
Whose weary courses are even run ! 
Lo ! but the portal of death is grand 
With visions bright of that heavenly land. 
Courage! A haven of peace is there — 
Whose wounded spirit no more may bear ! 



71 



A THOUGHT. 



N 



OT giants all, 
Whose blunt nibs scrawl 
Life's pages, crossed again 
And pointed with worn pen! 



Nor pigmies still, 
Whose faint strokes fill 
Spare lines, so finely spun 
They scarcely seem begun ! 

But hast thou wrought 
One shapely thought. 
Or yet one sentient deed — 
Sown one enduring seed — 

Blest be thy wit, 

Which hallows it ! 
Praise God, who gives it birth — 
This heavenward flight of earth ! 
72 



GRANT. 

SONNET. 

HE died, as he lived, in the daylight. 
With the night-tide of battle behind him, 
When they, the benighted, envenomed 
With malice and hatred, maligned him. 

He lives, as he died, in the morning. 

With the smile of the new day around him. 

When our hearts and our homes, reunited. 

With a guerdon of brightness have crowned him. 

No more the dim forms of thie darkness 
In their subtle relays have enchained him. 

But peace, angel peace, everlasting, 
Is his happiest Vidory gained him. 

Bring bays and bright crowns him adorning ; 
He lives, as he died, in the morning. 
73 



LAUS SALUTIS. 

THERE is acalmwhichhealth alone bestows- 
A genial calm which virtue only knows— 
A glorious sense of freedom in repose. 

'Tis not the noon-tide sleep which triumpheth- 
The dumb quiescence of abated breath 
Because of gluttony; for this is Death. 

It is that peaceful life the sunlight feels. 
While softly forth its gentle spirit steals 
Into creation, and new life reveals. 

Health is To Be — the goodly latitude 
Of universal love and gratitude — 
The blissful sense of God's beatitude — 

The glowing sense of fitness for the task 
Of living — aye ! of dying ; nor doth ask 
Abatement, controversy nor a mask. 

Oh God! who teachest men as men to be. 
We have our goodly health and love in Thee— 
Our joys, delights, in Thy complacency! 

74 ^ 



A BEAUTIFUL MORNING. 

"Forsan et haec olim meminisse juvabit." 

OH, never the sky so sweetly blue, 
Nor ever the red sun's disc so bright, 
Oh, never the morning with roseate hue 
Enchanteth my spirit with cheerier light ! 

Glad life is glowing! though sin be sad 
When the beaming sky is all so blue ; 

For men are weary, as men are glad. 

When Cometh the morning with roseate hue. 

And the sun shall beam with as happy a face 
When I am stricken with gloom and pain ; 

But I'll think of this hour in its beautiful grace. 
And press back my sorrow and grief again. 



75 



OCTOBER. 

OCTOBER days are fair, Sweetheart, 
The rarest of our year ; 
Too soon the gorgeous hours depart — 
Fresh tinted by God's beauteous art — 
Too soon they disappear ! 

Alas ! swift life ; e'en all too soon 

Spring's girlish charms were flown — 
The glorious bloom of flowery June 
'Neath Summer's roseate high-noon 
Too speedily was blown ! 

For yet not June with maiden air 

Might reign, love's courtly queen ; 
But thou, 06tober, thy gold hair 
Doth crown thee Woman, passing fair — 
Aye, passionate, I ween ! 

76 



Though day-fires burn thy gold hair dun 
And moon-beams pale thy brow, 

Aurora, dipping in the sun. 

Yet tips thy breasts and lips, Fond One, 
More red than ever now ! 

More ripe, more full, thy pulses flush 

With consciousness and pride ; 
While yet mine own veins, mantling, rush 
In answerment — 'tis but the blush 
Of modest love, my bride ! 

Of strong love, earnest love, I ween ! 

More rare love's radiant charms 
Are grown to fullest joys serene. 
When nestles Summer's maiden queen 

In Autumn's princely arms. 



n 



VALE, MEA! 



WHY dost thou leave me, 
O why thus depart. 
Thou who art dearer 

Than life to my heart ? 
Why dost thou leave me, 

Deserted, alone ? 
Hist to the winds, love. 
Hear how they moan ! 

Like the wild winds, love. 

Wailing at night. 
Groaning and moaning 

I long for the light — 
Light of my life, love. 

Fading away. 
Why dost thou leave me 

To long for the day ! 

78 



REVERIE. 

COSILY reposing, brother, 
By the calm hearth's cheery blaze, 
Fancy pi£tures many another 

Golden scene of brighter days : 
Fancy pidlures many another 

Silvery scene from memory's page — 
Golden scenes of youth, my brother, 
Silvery scenes of honoured age ! 

Mark the gorgeous spirit glowing 

In yon dark and gloomy frame ! 
Knowst thou not that life's outgoing 

Fleeteth as this flickering flame ? 
Aye, thine own prevision, roaming 

With each errant gleam of light, 
Courteth lovingly the gloaming 

And the mystery of night ! 

79 



Oh, while yet fond fancies nourish 

Fairest dreams in length displayed, 
Bright life's glowing embers flourish 

But to flicker, faint, and fade — 
Leaving many a scene unpainted, 

Many a promise unfulfilled, 
When the fertile brain hath fainted 

And the fiery heart is chilled ! 

Ay! even thus life's dream doth find us- 

With the golden genial glow 
Of youth, but reverie behind us 

And our fires fast waning low! 
Even thus — wan mysteries, shading 

Dreaming eyes with shadowy hands — 
Wandering starlets, dimly fading 

Into distant wonder-lands ! 



80 



THE ROMANCE OF A ROSE. 

A DRAMATIC SKETCH. 

Opening Scene. 

A ROSEBUD nods in a garden ; 
A Popinjay chances to pass. 

Prologue, 
Of whom is she dreaming, we wonder ; 
And what does he think of the lass? 

Act I. 

Ho! ho! little Rosebud, so lonely, 
You're almost asleep, I declare ! 

I have a great mind to kidnap you. 
And carry you off to my lair. 

Act n. 
Sweet Rosebud wakes up, as he clasps her, 
And bristles with terrible thorns — 
8i 



(The instinft of self-preservation ! 
She looks like an angel with horns). 

Act III. 

Bad Popinjay, nursing his fingers, 
Stalks off, scarcely saying Ta! ta ! 

And Rosebud, when all is well over, 
Cries : Guess I'll run home to mamma ! 

Denouement. 
The King (-bird), {cap-a-pie) arming. 

Flies straightway his Rosebud to aid ; 
Saying: I am your champion, darling! 

Epilogue, 
This is how matches are made. 



82 



THE BOOK OF LIFE. 

IN balmy days I wander forth 
To some vine-trellised nook. 
Amid whose leaves life's wondrous themes 
Are writ, in Nature's book. 

Ah! why confine the eager soul 

In narrow bounds of life — 
Why trammel we the budding growth 

Of thought with pruning knife ? 

*Twas taught us in our childish years 

To glean the page of lore ; 
Ah ! had I learned these lessons less, 

My life were worth me more. 

I had not bartered glowing health 

For truth at second rate. 
Nor crammed the years in jealous haste 

To warp a better fate. 

83 



'Twere more to see the welcome sun 

Proclaim the Eastern day, 
To hear the calm, contented trees 

Whisper the hours away ; 

'Twere more to breathe the dewy wind 
Which wafts its perfume by, 

To watch the happy little birds 
As merrily they fly ; 

To pluck the rare and fragrant flower 

And study in its face 
The animation, perfume, mould. 

That fit it for its place ; 

'Twere more to be a man of God, 

In Nature's honest sense. 
To be that Virtue which declares 

Itself life's recompense. 

Than teach the heart to be too wise ; 

More childlike we would dwell ; 
Oh ! better choose the open fields 

Of life, and love them well. 

84 



For oh, this life is like a bridge, 
From whose high walls are seen 

The beauteous shores, at either hand. 
The treacherous floods between ; 

And he who counts the many stones 
Which form the bridge's wall, 

May never reach the goodly fields. 
Nor pass the floods at all. 

Ah, life ! which fleeteth near and far, 
Hear thou this human sigh : 

Oh, child ! that thou wert born to live 
When thou art taught to die! 



85 



QUEEN LEILA. 

ONCE when I was roaming, without thought 
or care, 
Far in sunny Orient, in the land of Thare, 
'Twas I found Queen Leila, with a face so fair 
That I sometimes wonder, now, if she should dare 
Seek me as she promised, — here or anywhere, — 
Could she smile upon me as she used to, there? 

In that golden country, with its balmy air, 
Scent of orange blossoms, and its flowers rare. 
Where I woo'd my darling of the raven hair ; 
Where I fled from fortune when I left her there. 
In that distant country — now, I know not where. 
In the world's wide garden roams this maid of 
Thare ! 

What, though dark complexioned and with ankles 

bare, 
Was she not a daughter of the line of Thare, 
86 



And a queen of women where her people were ! 
Will she come as Leila, sweetly debonair? 
Or, with mien disdainful and a cruel air, 
Will she come to mock me, as a queen of Thare? 

Will she come in raiment that a queen should 

wear. 
Or in meek apparel, as a maid of Thare ? 
Will I meet her radiant, in the evening's glare — 
See a train of gallants her proud favours share ? 
Or, perchance, if fortune hath not dealt her fair, 
Will I meet her mourning for her House of Thare ? 

No ! I cannot fancy — No ! she would not dare 
Face me in my country, as a queen of Thare ; 
She will come as Leila, and she will forbear 
To make light of fortune in this world of care ; 
She will come as Leila of the raven hair. 
As I woo'd and won her in the land of Thare. 



87 



THE CLOUD. 



RUDDY day is dying ; 
Breezes, softly sighing. 

Soothe the air ; 
Golden leaves are gleaming — 
Sunset rays are beaming 

Everywhere ; 
But yon dark cloud, flying 
O'er the fair land lying. 

Ah, so bright ! 
Darkens soon the golden 
Sunset glow beholden. 

E'en as night ; 
And chill, sombre sadness 
Palls upon the gladness 

Of the hour. 
Ay ! but see, descending — 
The dry Earth befriending — 

A sweet shower. 
88 



Shall not, thus, befitting 
Tears come, kindly flitting 

All lives o'er ? 
Drink ! sad heart confiding- 
In God's love abiding. 

Sigh no more ! 



89 



A SUMMER SONG. 

WHEN skies are gray and gardens gay 
With pink or scarlet posies, 
Then love 's a tune of early June 

And fragrant as the rose is ; 
Then down the lane goes gentle Jane, 

A blushing maid and charming. 

With flying feet her love to greet, 

The neighbours quite alarming. 

When fields are green, 'tis then, I ween. 

That man and maid are dreaming ; 
Fond love, for thee the summer sea 

With opal hues is beaming. 
The sky and sea, sweet love, for thee 

Refleft their opalescence 
In Janette's eyes, with glad surprise 

At love's awakening presence. 
90 



Then skies are blue and love is true 
And Jack's true heart is beating ; 

Sweet words and low, with eyes aglow, 
Fond Janette's love entreating. 

Then summer's song sing blithe and long, 
Love's own mad music ringing ; 

Glad life 's a song when love is strong 

, And heart to heart is clinging. 



91 



BOHEMIA. 



TO Tragedy her coronet ! 
To Comedy her flowers ! 
Nor envy either we, fair friend, 

No envious mood is ours ; 
For the tragic crown is weary, 

And the flowers forget their glee— 
So trip we on our even way, 
Bohemia's children we ! 

Bohemia's children we, and love 

Her free range, fondly glad ; 
She laughs when life is merry. 

And she sighs when love is sad — 
So well she loves her mood of song, 

Be fortune dark or fair. 
No hollow sound of mockery 

In her free voice is there ! 
92 



Nor Tragedy, nor Comedy, 

But goodly Life sing we : 
Be ours a modest love — be ours 

Love's round of Melody ! 
No crowns bear heavy on our heads. 

No dead flowers mock our mirth, 
But blithely trip we on our way — 

Bohemians of Earth ! 



93 



SINE QUA NON. 

(after OWEN MEREDITH.) 

YOU may live without poetry, music, and art ; 
You may live without conscience, and live 

without heart ; 
You may live without love ; you may live withuot 

books ; 
And may bask in the balm of a thousand of cooks ! 
But what is a cook — who can give you a bite, 
Yet can't give you tonic to tempt appetite ? 
I'd rather hang, hungry, on Lilian's smiles. 
Than feast with the gods in the Fortunate Isles ! 



94 



UTOPIA. 

SONNET. 

UNDER the sky, one bright, mid-summer noon, 
Almost asleep, enough for day-dreams 
weaving 
And seemingly a very dream achieving, — 
For this was in that dreamful month of June 
That I lay mooning when there was no moon, — 
I dreamed, day-dreams are dreadfully deceiving, 
A little cloud, the sea of heaven cleaving, 
My kingdom was where it was always noon. 

But oh ! while sped my fanciful designing. 

My cloudlet grew so grand with glowing bubbles. 
My widening kingdom caused me much com- 
plaining ; 
Yet every cloud has still a silver lining ; 

And I dreamed on, until, 'mid endless troubles, 
I woke unto the fad that it was raining. 
95 



REPOSE. 

THE shadows of darkness surround me 
While I dream of the beautiful day ; 
And the mornings a sluggard have found me, 

As sleeping and dreaming I lay ; 

And I sigh at each thought of awaking 

The slumber my being is taking. 

Yet I joy that a little while longer 

My spirit may blissfully sleep — 
May rest, and in resting grow stronger, 

A fruitful outstarting to reap. 
So I dream while my young years are numbered ; 

May I joy that I rested and slumbered ! 



96 



DESIRE. 

UNSPEAKABLE longing pervadeth my 
breast, 
As I wake from my slumber and rest ; 
InefFable yearning, hope still undefined, 

Enchanteth my wondering mind ; 
And desire searcheth wildly — a sateless behest, 
The pursuit of a phantom with feverish zest. 

Ah, well ! and I think 'tis unnatural so 

To determine existence ; but lo ! 
Do I turn to the phantom my brother pursues, 

It seems only more vague and diffuse. 
Oh friend, dost thou fashion thee ghosts in the 
sun — 
In the dark of death's dungeon, say, will there 
be none ? 



97 



ACCOMPLISHMENT. 

I AWOKE from the dreaming, the slumber of 
youth, 
I awoke to the day's vivid truth, 
I awoke to discover that youth was a dream ; 
Ay ! and manhood — my manhood did seem 
Yet of unstable purpose, unfruitful desire, 

And my day-dreams sped formless as vapours of 
fire. 

I awoke ! I awoke ! For my manhood doth seem 

No longer the ghost of a dream — 
So fiercely I followed each shade to its dell. 

And fastened each truth in its well. 
Oh friend, who would'st capture thy phantom of 
fate. 

Push onward, and boldly — 'tis never too late ! 



98 



TWILIGHT. 

THE kindly sun beams through the mist 
With features bright, 
As gallantly he stoops to kiss 

The world good-night ; 
And leaves me in the twilight gray, 

In errant mood — 
A weary pilgrim, seeking calm 

In solitude ! 
My heart, so tired within me, seemed 

To plead for this — 
To glide among my favoured haunts 

And know the bliss 
Of indolence, as in my boat 

I drift and think : 
How merciful, that wavering souls 

Upon the brink 
Of sorrow, may thus turn to Thee, 

O God ! — heart-calm 
To seek, reposing at Thy shrines ! 

Not church with psalm, 

; ifC. 99 



But at Thy seftless altars, spread 

All o'er the earth, 
Where all may kneel to bless Thee that 

Thou gav'st them birth ! 
May bless Thee, that 'mid anxious doubts 

And woes they feel. 
This thing they know, that unto each 

Thou dost reveal 
Thy love in earth's minutest charms ! 

So, floating on, 
Past stately pines and cedars tall, 

I see anon 
Some weary willow bending down 

To cheer some chill 
And nestling shrub, for they are friends 

In sadness still ! — 
Green ivies, arm in loving arm. 

Strong trees entwine ! 
Sweet violets, in courtship with 

Each languid vine, 
Upon their soft and mossy bed 

Of love recline ! 
All nature hath her friendships still — 

As I have mine : 
loo 



For newly beautiful life seems 

Now to my soul, 
Like these scenes mirrored in the lake- 

A perfeft whole ! 



lOI 



ADIEU, CHARMANT PAYS. 

IF one should say, on glancing through 
These records few : 
*' How small a land it is ! " — though true, 
I cannot think if I might brook 

That such should look 
Again on thee, land of my book. 

For they, whose friendliness inclines — 

As one defines — 
To read as well between the lines. 
May understand how I might be. 

On leaving thee. 
Content, without apology. 

Yet still, before I leave thee go, 

Perchance I owe 
Self-censure, that the world may know 
'Tis not thy fault, song of my heart, 

As now we part, 
That thou so tiny, darling, art. 

102 



I could not breathe those thoughts of thine, 

O heart of mine ! 
That thou hast laid at thy love's shrine. 
In fond humility to please ; 

These, only these, 
I sing — love's worldlier harmonies ! 



103 




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